


The Magic Seeker

by KBates



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Dark Elves, Dark Magic, Demons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Heroine's Journey, Humor, Mythology - Freeform, Politics, Romance, Sarcasm, Twisted, Unseelie Court, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBates/pseuds/KBates
Summary: 28 year old Eva Smith is a human with unique abilities--she's tiny, extremely sarcastic, and tends to take on beings twice her size--not necessarily guaranteeing a favorable outcome for herself. After having been fired from three normal jobs, she's trying to scrape together a living as a magic seeker with limited success. When a dark Elf Lord asks her for help in solving his brother's murder, her life starts going awry. Urban fantasy / modern day alternate reality set in NYC.  Twisted romance. Plucky heroine versus dark, vicious magical being.





	The Magic Seeker

**Author's Note:**

> If anybody's reading this--feedback would be awesome. Of any kind. I normally never ask for feedback (at least flat out) for my fanfics, but will do so heartily for my original stuff.

The magic seeker? Ha!

She laughs at the glamorous nickname she’s been given by her…guess you could call them clients. What a fucking joke. They should call her what she really is—a magic _sweeper_. Queen janitor of magical messes. That’s what they use her for, don’t they? To clean up their messes so that they can go undetected in the human realm.

She sits in the claustrophobic basement office, filing her nails. May as well make use of time, right? Sometimes, the bastards made her wait for hours until the ‘sufficient paperwork’ had been done. She sighs, getting more bored by the second—she’s never understood why magical beings were so into paperwork and physical records.

“Eva…Smith?” a mousy looking woman calls, her shrill voice echoing against the walls of the tiny waiting area.

Rising up as she hears the receptionist call out her name, she walks up to the counter. “Yep, that’s me.”

The bespectacled receptionist, frowns, her gaze seemingly suspicious. “Is that even your real name… _Smith_?”

Eva flashes her a wicked grin. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”  She’s found out, over the years that the more obnoxious she is to receptionists, the more quickly they shuttled her into the big boss’s office.

It works—the receptionist cum secretary leads her into an empty, nondescript office that’s situated down a narrow set of stairs. The claustrophobic in her wants to run back screaming.

“Fucking, had to be a tiny little dark hole, didn’t it?” Eva mutters to herself, keeping her fear at bay. “My fucking amazing luck strikes once again.”

The woman takes no notice of Eva’s mutterings—she pierces her with a critical gaze. “Bezle asked specifically for you and didn’t provide any details. _Why_?”

 _Damned if she knows_.

Giving the woman a halfhearted shrug, Eva puts on a disaffected expression. “You’ll have to ask him.” Bezle is a part fire demon, part God knows what, who deals in various things magical—she uses him for sourcing clients sometimes. Other times, she sells him anything in her magical reservoir.

“They’re in there,” the mousy woman tells her, indicating a dark archway. Saying that she whirls around and scurries away before Eva can ask any questions.

 _That_ was unexpected.

It doesn’t escape Eva that she’s two levels below ground and her cellphone probably has zero bars. Still, she’s been to all kinds of offices before, one behind a dumpster in a dark little alley—but she probably had network there. Her line of work isn’t the safest of professions, but she’s managed to keep herself unharmed. So far. Maybe today will be an exception.

“Oh, fuck it,” she mutters aloud, taking a tentative step forward and stepping through the archway—she holds up her hands to shield herself from the sudden onslaught of golden light.

“Took you long enough.” A familiar voice calls out, tone aptly amused.

Opening her eyes to glare at the man sitting across a mahogany desk, she responds, “You expected me to cross a veiled archway without any reservations?” She looks around the office, the view outside makes her aware that she is no longer in New York City. There are no sky scrapers, _hell_ , no roads—the window overlooks a medieval looking harbor with the most beautiful boats she’s ever seen. The air is crisp and fresh, and the sky clear. “Where the fuck are we?”

Bezle laughs—a cackling sound as he focuses his golden eyes on the mortal woman. “To answer your question simply—somewhere you’ve never been to before. And watch your language, Eva, you’re in the presence of royalty.”

She looks away from the window and at the being who laughs at her. He’s one of the few non-humans she takes assignments from, depending on what they are. She’s known him long enough that she knows he isn’t royalty…of _any_ kind. “You calling yourself royalty these days? That’s new.”

“I was speaking of one who sits behind you, magic seeker,” Bezle retorts, a wry twist to his lips. His liquid gold eyes sparkle with humor as she jumps—she hadn’t noticed the elf’s presence. “Eva Smith, meet the Elf Lord of the Winterlands.”

 _Elf Lord of the Winterlands_?

Eva stops herself from snorting at the title—the only thing she knows of the Elves is that they have seven lords, ruled by one High King. So far, she hasn’t met any of them—they’re not known for being specifically friendly with mortals.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Eva Smith.” The Elf Lord speaks—his voice quiet enough that she can’t quite decipher his tone.

She frowns, taking in the man, well _elf_ , sitting across the room. His eyes are a bright shade of molten emerald—the likes of which she’s never seen in a human. His hair is frost white—his stature broad yet sharp. He sits on a nondescript armchair, yet looks as if he owns the damned place—feet flat on the ground, elbows resting on each armrest. Her frown deepens when she realizes that he knows she’s sizing him up.

“Hello,” she says, voice cool as she can keep it. _The hell did he want with her, anyway_? “What’s this about?”

The elf looks away, as if dismissing her entirely. “Are you sure of this?” he asks the half-demon, who eyes both parties with detached amusement.

Bezle laughs again, making Eva wince as the shrill noise grates against her ears. “This is the only mortal I’ve ever hired, My Lord. I’m afraid we don’t have a choice.”

A harsh sigh—the elf turns his penetrating gaze back towards her. “I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Eyeing the exchange with growing irritation, Eva rolls her eyes. “Allow me to grovel at your feet and thank you, Your Majesty,” she declares—sarcasm sharp enough to cut like a butcher’s knife.

The elf doesn’t bat an eye. “You may address me as My Lord, and not Your Majesty.”

_Is he fucking serious?!_

She growls, glaring at Bezle. “What do you want—is this some kind of joke?”

“Not at all, magic seeker,” Bezle replies, his voice as sweet as honey. “I want you to take on an assignment, solve a puzzle of sorts for the young lord.”

She looks back at the Elf Lord, thankful that her eyes are dark enough that he can’t read anger in them. “What kind of puzzle?”

He stares at her for a few moments before replying. “My brother was killed in the human realm—I want your help in finding his killer.”

She gapes at him, her dark eyes wide with incredulity. “I’m not the fucking police. I don’t know what Bezle has told you…” she pauses to glare at the golden eyed half-demon who gives her a wide-eyed, innocent look, “…but my abilities involve absorbing various forms of magic that have been left behind. I’m not some supernatural mystery crime solver. Hell, I’ve never even met an elf before you, so my experiences are limited to begin with.”

The elf takes no note of her angry babbling. “Are you experienced with distinguishing the origin of magic?”

“Vaguely— _sometimes_. No guarantees,” she replies with a shrug.

“Then I shall seek your services.”

 _Seek your services? Who even spoke like that?_ _Sexy elf lords with green eyes and white hair_ —her conscience throws back at her. _Ugh, don’t even go there_ —the saner half of her conscience chimes.

“What makes you so sure I’ll take it?” She flashes both males a challenging look. “You don’t know me well enough to make such assumptions, Bezle.”

“Come now, magic seeker,” Bezle consoles with a slow chuckle. “Don’t tell me your… _financial situation_ …allows you to be picky with your clients. I heard, through the grapevine, that you haven’t sold any magick for the last two months.”

She grits her teeth—bastard’s correct, as usual. She’d kill to have his sources. She turns back to the frost haired lord. “Do you have any other information?”

“We found remnants of Crawler magick.”

 _Crawler_? “Uh…what’s a crawler?” she asks. “And why ask for my help if you already found remnants of Crawler magick?”

“Crawlers—the beings who shift through smoke, surely you’ve encountered one or two in the mortal realm?” His tone is derisive enough to make her grit her teeth.

“Ah, you mean Smoke Shifters,” she says.

He laughs—a hypnotic, musical sound. “Smoke Shifters? That’s too polite a name for those creatures.”

“I take it you don’t like them?” she asks, brows raised. _No wonder they offed your brother_ , she thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud.

With a shake of his head, he flashes her an icy smile. “I am neutral towards them—they have an old enmity with the Elves.”

“Once again,” she says with a sigh, “Why are you involving me? I have zero qualifications for this sort of thing. Consult the magic UN or whatever you have.”

The Elf Lord’s eyes grow cold as his face turns serious. “Someone is trying to frame the Crawlers—we could face open war if that were to happen. I need your help in seeking the true culprit.”

She shrugs. “Sounds like a complicated situation. Not my problem, not my expertise.”

“The war would take place in the human realm.”

Well, _fuck_.

She sighs again, fingers massaging an aching temple. “Let me get this straight—someone wants to start a war between the Elves and the Smoke Shifters in the human realm, and you want me to stop this from happening?” She turns to Bezle. “You know how _ridiculous_ that sounds, right?”

“Not just you, magic seeker,” the half-demon consoles, “I can guarantee the payment shall be worth your time.”

She rolls her eyes at that. “How much?” Eyeing the Elf Lord with a shifty glance, she narrows her eyes. “What’s the guarantee he’ll actually pay unlike your last referral?”

The room goes dead silent for a few seconds before the elf rises to his full height, his eyes blazing with unhidden rage. “You dare challenge my honor, human?” His voice is deathly quiet and his gaze unflinching—as if he’s ready to kill her on the spot.

“Um, no,” she stammers— _good fucking GOD he is tall_. “I got stiffed once, just making sure that doesn’t happen again. Girl’s gotta eat, you know.” She turns to Bezle with panic in her eyes— _why doesn’t the bastard do something_!?

“Please sit back down, My Lord,” Bezle cuts in. “Don’t take what Eva says seriously, she doesn’t understand the honor of Elves.” He looks back towards the mortal woman, “Does that mean you’ll take the contract?”

“I believe you didn’t answer her question of how much,” the Elf Lord sneers as he sits back down. “As much as your heart desires, mortal.”

Her jaw falls open. “What—you’ll magick me a million dollars?”

“A hundred million should you desire it.”

She frowns—working out the logistics of such a scenario. “How would you give it to me, cash?” _That wouldn’t work at all._

“I’d deposit it in a Swiss bank account in your name.”

She’s rendered speechless for a few seconds as she stares at him mutely. _How did a fucking Elf Lord even know about Swiss bank accounts?_

“Seriously, a hundred million dollars?” Eva asks, before turning to Bezle for confirmation. “Can he actually do that?”

The half-demon nods. “Elf Lords command some of the strongest magic in all the realms.”

Letting out a deep breath, she wonders what to make of the entire thing. In her 28 years of life, she’s learned that things that sound too good to be true, are _not_ , indeed, true. But still—his offer is too good to refuse. “I’ll take the assignment under one condition.”

Both, the Elf Lord and half-demon look at each other before turning back to the petite mortal.

She grins slowly. “You’ll have to tell me your name. I refuse to call you Elf Lord or Your Lordship or any other ridiculous title.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: So I thought I’d write something original. This is going to be a longish story—I’d say it involves horror, fantasy, romance (of the twisted variety), and politics. A mix of things--all things I like, that is.
> 
> I write Labyrinth fanfiction under the same name in ffnet and Ao3. Also have a Tumblr (batesybates)—this story will be posted there as well, along with character outlines and whatnot (when I have the time). Thanks for reading—let me know your thoughts.  
> Eva sort of looks like Mila Kunis.


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